


I'm Thinking Of You As A Star (And How The Earth Revolves Around You)

by stereoslash



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Produce X 101 (TV), UNIQ (Band), UP10TION, X1 (Band)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon Compliant, Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 19:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19774762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stereoslash/pseuds/stereoslash
Summary: The five times Seungyoun wanted to kiss Wooseok (and the one time he did).





	I'm Thinking Of You As A Star (And How The Earth Revolves Around You)

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a short, cheesy ass 5+1 fic, but the moment I started writing, fic!Seungyoun took on a life of his own. I just really fucking love the guy, alright, and I've been wanting to write about this ship since the moment they performed Love Shot. Title taken from Move as performed by SIXC.

**one.**

B class is a little _too_ awkward at first — not that Seungyoun had expected anything less. The majority of the trainees were, essentially, just a pack of timid teenagers with dreams too big for their bodies and not enough skills to match; and Seungyoun, well, Seungyoun’s been doing this for a long while — far too long, really — so he takes it upon himself to try and break the ice, dropping wisecracks here and there and garnering laughs at the expense of the dignity he had signed away the moment he agreed to the terms of the show. This is the path he had chosen — the class clown, the season’s trusty comic relief — and he figured that, if making a fool of himself is the price he would have to pay in order to make training just a tad bit more bearable, then he was more than willing to bend over backwards just to put a smile or two onto his fellow contestants’ faces.

Children, Seungyoun notes, learn to thrive under pressure; but having fun is the surest way for them to reach their full potential without losing too much of themselves in the process. Seungyoun’s no longer a child, hasn’t been for a while (and being cast aside by the people who were meant to pave the way to his dreams had only pushed him to grow up too fast, too soon), but he remembers what it was like to be filled to the brim with such unflinching hope — he feels a ghost of it now, several years later, a passion that still burns bright no matter how many times the years had tried to see it _quenched_ — and he feels a strange form of responsibility in making sure that the kids surrounding him don’t end up caving underneath all of the pressure that this competition has saddled them with. Seungyoun knows all too well that he’s walking a fragile line, and it would be none too surprising if he got booted at the very first ranking evaluation (he’s a lot older than the majority of these kids, he knows, and the debut group is going to promote for _five fucking years_ , for goodness sake — he would be twenty-eight by the end of it), so he resolves to at least have as much fun as he could before he’s forced to say his goodbyes.

But being the class clown is too much of a burden to carry all on his own — a single crazed needle in the midst of an unreceptive haystack does not an entertaining class make — and he’s pleasantly surprised to find an unlikely ally in the form of Kim Wooseok.

Seungyoun hadn’t really expected much from Wooseok, not initially. That’s not to say he wasn’t impressed by the other’s abilities — Wooseok is a debuted idol, after all, and with that fact comes a whole lot of performance knowledge and a well-honed skill set that can only be gleaned from years of experience — but he hadn’t expected the male to keep up with the two-and-a-half cups of crazy that Seungyoun serves on the daily. Wooseok looks quiet, timid even; seemingly reserved to the point that most of the other trainees had spent days walking on eggshells around him before finding out that the one thing that _didn’t_ come with all those years of experience is a god-awful superiority complex.

Seungyoun prides himself in being a great judge of character, and though he knew right off the bat that Wooseok is nowhere near as cold and aloof as his appearance might suggest, he didn’t really make an effort to push beyond basic pleasantries. While it was definitely nice to be in the presence of someone who understands what it’s like to be a debuted idol going back to square one all in the name of a goddamn reality show, there was no arguing that Wooseok just _seemed_ as if he was standing atop some sort of pedestal — a pedestal that not even Seungyoun, who had debuted a year before the younger man, could ever hope to reach.

Seungyoun is knowledgeable in a lot of fields, and knowing where he stands in relation to other people is one of them. He figured there was _absolutely_ _no way_ that someone of Wooseok’s caliber would ever slum it long enough to be friends with someone like him, but somewhere between walking the other trainees through the grueling dance moves that form the choreography of this season’s title track and attempting to alleviate the tension brought about by the prospect of grade re-evaluations, Wooseok and Seungyoun had slowly started to become friends.

They were an unlikely pair if Seungyoun ever saw one. Seungyoun is, well, _Seungyoun_ , with all of his mindless jokes, a face that could rearrange itself in a thousand unattractive ways, and the force with which he blows through every single day like a goddamn tornado; and Wooseok is — Wooseok is _delicate_ , is the thing, and attractive to boot ( _objectively speaking, that is,_ Seungyoun thinks to himself rather unhelpfully). It shouldn’t make sense, this newfound partnership that they have, but — for some reason Seungyoun cannot fathom — it does. He soon grows accustomed to having the younger male by his side, seamlessly stepping into whatever puerile scheme of Seungyoun’s requires an extra set of hands; and Wooseok even goes as far as cleaning up after Seungyoun, which — all right, Seungyoun is admittedly not one of the _tidiest_ trainees around, but he’s no animal. He always cleans up after himself eventually, and to have someone picking up his slack feels — _strange_ , but not unwelcome.

He points this out to Wooseok during one of their breaks, insisting that the other male doesn’t _have_ to wipe the practice room’s floor clean every single time Seungyoun knocks over his drink like the ridiculously hyperactive giant he is, but Wooseok simply responds with a smile and a shrug — stating that Seungyoun has more pressing matters to worry about.

“Yeah? Like what?” Seungyoun asks, brow raised as he takes a sip of his third energy drink of the day (they were barely three hours into practice, too, and Seungyoun supposes that with old age comes a greater need to rehydrate).

“Like making sure the kids don’t overwork themselves to the point of collapse and maintaining that whole ‘I can afford to make myself look like crap because everyone knows I’m attractive’ skit you’ve got going on.” Wooseok supplies, starling Seungyoun enough to spill a portion of his drink onto the front of his orange B class jersey — and Wooseok tuts, shaking his head playfully as he wipes at the liquid without missing a beat.

“And there’s another one for the list. You also have to worry about not spilling your drink all over yourself, apparently.” the shorter male adds, but Seungyoun isn’t listening anymore, not really.

They’re standing a little too close together, Seungyoun notes — closer than they’ve ever been, closer than they’ve ever had any cause to be. He could probably count every single one of Wooseok’s delicate little lashes if he wanted to, and a part of him is genuinely tempted to try; but the majority of his thoughts, Seungyoun finds, are far too focused on wondering what it would be like to _kiss_ Wooseok. And this is — this is _new_ , Seungyoun thinks, because while he’s perfectly aware that Wooseok is attractive ( _objectively speaking, that is,_ he tells himself once more, but it sounds even less convincing now than it had the first time), he’s pretty sure that he’s never really thought of Wooseok in that way.

And yeah, Seungyoun’s into guys, but he’s into girls too. None of this is news to him, save for the fact that he was a split second away from closing the distance between him and the younger male. It’s a relief when Wooseok finally walks away to help some trainee or other, Seungyoun somehow managing to wave him off with a laugh instead of standing motionless as he struggles to process the onslaught of information he’s being faced with.

Little by little, the initial panic dissipates. It’s normal to wonder about these things, Seungyoun supposes. Wooseok is attractive, after all, and Seungyoun finds that he can admit as much without having to tack on some half-baked excuse about being objective. But this — whatever sort of attraction this is — has to be nipped in the bud; dug up from the recesses of his mind before the thoughts truly start to take root. This is a _competition_ , after all — and like Wooseok said, Seungyoun has far more pressing matters to worry about. Right now, his priority is to debut, and everything else will have to come after. He _has_ to debut, has to make it into the final lineup alongside Wooseok; and when he does, well — he’d have five whole years and all the time in the world to wonder about what it would be like to kiss Wooseok.

_Wait, what?_

**two.**

Wooseok, predictably, moves to A class after the grade re-evaluation; and while Seungyoun is none too pleased about the fact that he — on the other hand — had failed to move a grade higher, he takes comfort in the fact that none of these letter grades would matter once the theme song has been recorded to completion. And yeah, he supposes that it _does_ kind of suck how having a lower grade means that he’d have a smaller chance of getting screen time for _X1-MA_ — but Seungyoun has _watched_ the videos for all of the _Produce 101_ title tracks, and he knows all too well that most of the time it’s damn near impossible to pick anyone out of the faces that are being flashed in rapid succession. He’ll just keep doing what he’s been doing so far, he figures. Every reality show needs a comic relief, after all, and Seungyoun has been aiming for that role right from the start.

Because _Produce_ is _Produce_ (Seungyoun likes to think about how the “p” in _Produce_ most likely stands for “pressure”, and he never fails to crack himself up every single time he recalls his own little joke), they barely get any rest before they’re being plunged headfirst into the group battles. Seungyoun is pleased with the lineup Keum Donghyun comes up with, confident that they could hold their own against the other team what with all the talented members that they have on their group, and he does his best to ignore the smile that threatens to spread across his face at the thought of standing on the same stage as Wooseok. It’s tough work, and it gets tougher still when Wooseok exhibits no reservations in letting Seungyoun know how thrilled he is to be working together again (“At least I have you to vouch for me the next time someone assumes I’m cold and unfriendly.” “And why would I do that?” “Because I clean all of your messes up for you, _obviously_.” “Listen, I’ve been telling you _not_ to.”), but Seungyoun is relieved to find that falling back on their usual banter helps keep his head screwed on straight for the time being.

Between Sihoon taking the helm and Wooseok cleaning up the finer details of the choreography, their group practices start flying by in a breeze. Seungyoun could just as easily take charge, he knows, and the kids would surely listen to him — nine years of experience, after all, is nothing to scoff at — but he finds that it’s just as rewarding to let the others take charge, unable to stop the way his own lips curl upwards whenever Wooseok smiles in delight after nailing yet another part of the choreography perfectly (Wooseok in glasses, Seungyoun thinks, is truly a force to be reckoned with). Really the only wrench that’s caught in the gears of their team’s well-oiled machine is Sejin, but even then, Seungyoun can’t find it in himself to be angry at the other man. Nine years is a hell of a long time, and it appears to be even longer in an industry such as this; and throughout all his years of experience, Seungyoun thinks that he must have already felt every single emotion that exists, so he’s by no means a stranger to whatever it is that Sejin’s going through.

Truthfully, emotionality isn’t one of Seungyoun’s strong suits. He has always preferred bouts of laughter over a good cry, but he’s fully able to gauge what kind of approach a situation calls for; and this, he thinks, is not the time for any of his tried and tested witticisms — so when the team holes up in one of the booths, he elects to say the words he wishes he could have heard all those years ago, when he was younger and filled with so much doubt and self-deprecation that it physically hurt to breathe. It’s probably the most sentimental anyone on the competition has ever seen him, and the surprise is written plainly across Wooseok’s face; too-small eyes growing wide where he sits across from Seungyoun in the darkened booth. It makes Seungyoun wonder if there’s anything else that he could do in order to warrant that brand of fascination, but it’s a train of thought that he cuts too short in favor of maintaining his own sanity.

The rest of the practices run a hell of a lot more smoothly from there, Sejin tackling the routine with newfound confidence and positivity; and Seungyoun finds a _Marimong_ lying smack in the middle of his pillow one day — no doubt courtesy of Sejin, whom he had grown closer to after all the advice he had given to the other. Before anyone knows it, they’re waiting for their cue to go onstage, and Seungyoun revels in the thrill of it all — of getting to show the audience what he can do, of executing the routine they had worked so damn hard on, of _finally_ being able to perform again. Once the music starts up, the rest of the world falls away, but Seungyoun is still painfully aware of how his line bleeds flawlessly into Wooseok’s — and he’s not impervious to the charm that is surely coming off of the younger male in droves, having been exposed to it every single time their group had practiced in front of a mirror (Wooseok onstage, Seungyoun thinks, is yet another force to be reckoned with).

The battle ends in a win, and Seungyoun can’t exactly say that he’s surprised — because he has _seen_ with his own two eyes just what Wooseok is capable of, and truth be told, Seungyoun believes that Wooseok deserves every single one of those votes and then some. Wooseok is always beautiful, Seungyoun thinks (and he doesn’t give himself time to wonder when he stopped describing the other man as attractive and started opting for _beautiful_ instead), but he looks even more beautiful like this — basking in the glow of a well-deserved victory and pushing aside all of his fears and anxieties for a few blessed moments. The entire team is smiling once they file out of the room, soon huddling together in a celebratory group hug, and Seungyoun — Seungyoun is tempted, so fucking _tempted_ to just turn to the younger male standing by his side and kiss Wooseok right on the mouth.

But that’s ridiculous, Seungyoun thinks, because there’s clearly no way he could ever do that and walk away from it unscathed — because whether or not his stupidity is received favorably, he just _knows_ that kissing Wooseok would entail many a sleepless night in the weeks to come. Besides, Seungyoun posits, he’s most likely still riding on the high that comes with winning — the elation that is paired with it painting him just a few shades more irrational than he usually is. He’s just really fucking happy, is all, and Wooseok is really fucking pretty. After all, Seungyoun is only human, and human beings are hardwired to gravitate towards anything and anyone that they might find beautiful. He doesn’t really _want_ to kiss Wooseok.

_Does he?_

**three.**

He isn’t exactly thrilled about losing the center position to someone who is several years younger than him, but Seungyoun knows talent when he sees it, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Dohyon is pretty damn exceptional as far as neophytes go. Their team isn’t exactly a powerhouse, per se, but Seungyoun supposes that the lot they’ve drawn could have been much, much worse. While Seongyeon and Jaehoon are painfully inexperienced when it comes to rapping, they are, at the very least, amicable and eager to learn; and Seungyoun finds that he doesn’t mind teaching the two of them in the slightest. Writing, Seungyoun thinks, would have to be the biggest challenge; because while coming up with lyrics is a task that is daunting enough on its own, writing _rap lyrics_ is a hundred times more difficult for someone who hasn’t been trained to rhyme the way rappers do — and he dedicates many an hour to looking over Seongyeon’s and Jaehoon’s lyrics in order to ensure that their words are up to par.

He’s pleasantly surprised to find that the writing process ended a whole lot quicker than he had initially expected it to, and from there it’s only a matter of choreographing the simple steps and gestures that they would be executing onstage. It leaves them with more free time than Seungyoun ever imagined having in the midst of a challenge, and he elects to have it split between fine-tuning their routine and getting to know his teammates just a little bit better. Seongyeon, he finds, is a former _YG_ trainee just as he once was; and they bond over stories from the time they had spent in the company — trading anecdotes and trying to figure out how much had changed inside _YG_ since Seungyoun’s trainee days (the answer being “not much”, as the company apparently still dedicates its best resources to the trainees that they’re already shaping for debut — and Seungyoun had witnessed firsthand how he and the rest of _UNIQ_ got the shorter end of the stick, because there’s just no way that _YG_ would ever prioritize _Yuehua_ ’s trainees over their own; instead giving the best instructors to the trainee teams that were known simply as Team A and Team B).

Seungyoun makes his rounds in the other teams’ practice rooms as well, often bumping into Seungwoo whenever he pays a visit to the _Turtle Ship_ team, because the two of them know all too well that Jinhyuk is mere moments away from cracking underneath all the stress and the pressure — and so they’ve taken it upon themselves to try and help out whenever they can. Wooseok drops by a lot, too, mostly to offer Jinhyuk moral support more than anything else — opting to leave the rap lessons to Seungyoun and Seungwoo as he doesn’t have quite as much experience in that field as they do. The younger man doles out a fair share of visits to Seungyoun’s team as well, and it doesn’t take long for Seungyoun to get used to seeing Wooseok tucked against one of the four corners of the practice room as his team goes through the motions. Wooseok seems particularly fascinated by (or amused by — Seungyoun honestly couldn’t tell sometimes) Seungyoun’s verse, often mimicking the rapper’s lines and gestures; and although Seungyoun finds it painfully endearing, he can’t very well tell Wooseok that, so he opts to keep evicting the other male from their practice sessions instead.

“ _Mine_ , see? I can sing your lines too.” Wooseok states, drawing out the syllables in the lyrics; the lilt in his voice meant to imitate Seungyoun’s tone — and he’s got the gestures mapped out as well, an arm dragging across his own stomach even as Seungyoun guides him bodily out of the room.

“First of all,” Seungyoun begins, hands resting on either side of the other’s waist as the door to the practice room slams shut behind them (and Seungyoun _supposes_ that it’s high time for him to let the younger male go, but Wooseok doesn’t seem to mind the contact, so he allows himself to indulge in their proximity just a little while longer); back soon pressed to the wall as Wooseok continues to lean against his front, “it’s _rapping_ , not singing. And second of all, shouldn’t you be practicing _your_ lines instead of copying mine?”

“We’re done for the day.” Wooseok responds matter-of-factly, eyes purposely growing wide as if to convince Seungyoun that he’s free of guile. “I already know that we’ll do well. _You’ll_ do well, too. I know you will. Your line’s going to be iconic, I can already tell. People on the internet are going to call you theirs, I bet.”

The words startle a laugh out of Seungyoun, and he’s shaking his head in amusement as he retorts. “Is that right? And what about you, little fox? You better make sure you don’t end up crying. We can’t have the stylist’s hard work going to waste.”

“Crying? Me? Well, I’d never.” Wooseok scoffs, voice soon dipping low as his gaze travels up and down the hall before leaning closer; his tone cautious, secretive — seemingly poised to reveal something potentially earth-shattering. “I’ve specifically asked the stylist to give me waterproof mascara.”

“Of fucking course you did. Everyone already _knows_ you’re a crybaby, but at least you had enough sense to set that up.” Seungyoun grins, palms soon unlatching from the other’s waist before urging Wooseok to be on his way and let Seungyoun rejoin his teammates for practice, and Wooseok (by some miracle) does — but not before scoffing out a “fine” with his plush lips set into a petulant pout.

Seungyoun watches him walk down the hall to where the vocal teams’ practice rooms are, and he’s slumping against the wall as soon as Wooseok is out of sight — groaning even as the image of the younger’s lips continues burning behind his closed lids. And maybe he _did_ want to kiss Wooseok just then, but he figures it’s just a normal response to Wooseok’s innate charm (and _fucking hell_ , that sounds like a feeble excuse if he ever heard one); because surely, anyone with a working set of eyes would be at the mercy of a certain Kim Wooseok, right?

_Right?_

**four**.

If he’s going to be _completely_ honest, Seungyoun hadn’t really expected that he would get this far. That’s not to say he doesn’t believe he’s good enough to make it into the final lineup — after all, he didn’t call himself an “all-rounder” for nothing — but shows like these are being handled by people with agendas, and he was inclined to believe that the said agenda doesn’t include letting him debut into the final group. Seungyoun is talented, sure, but so are many others; and in this industry, good looks win out against talent at least half of the time. And it’s not that Seungyoun thinks he looks _bad_ , because he knows he’s attractive to some extent; but he also knows that his brand of attractive doesn’t exactly fit into the image that _Produce_ tends to look for in their winners. He’s too manly, he thinks, and the image he projects errs on the side of sexy; a far cry from the “fresh” concepts that _Produce_ always seems to end up gunning for — and that’s not even considering his age, because everyone and their mother knows all too well that Seungyoun is older than the vast majority of this season’s contestants.

So really, the mere fact that he’s even standing here right now appears to be nothing short of a miracle to Seungyoun — but now that he’s come this far, he can’t help but wish that he would advance just a tiny bit further into the competition. He hungers for the stage, after all — but really, isn’t that why all of them are here? And maybe Seungyoun’s just a tad more desperate than most, with only the small handful of debuted trainees being able to relate to the gargantuan weight he carries; because for the lot of them, this show might very well be the last chance they’re ever going to get. He has seen his own fears reflected on Wooseok’s face, as well as Seungwoo’s, Jinhyuk’s, Byungchan’s, and Kookheon’s; Yuvin’s, too, who for some reason always appears to be a hell of a lot more worried than all of them combined — an endless cycle of being hellishly afraid of failure and pushing himself to give just a little bit more even as the will to keep going saps out of him in a steady stream. And yes, he’s already beyond grateful that he was able to get to where he is now, but Seungyoun can’t shake off the feeling that he’s meant for more than just this.

“You’ll be all right,” Wooseok tells him in the waiting room, moments before they’re all meant to file into the studio for eliminations; the male’s much smaller hand clasping his — and Seungyoun tries his damnedest not to think about what it might mean. “You’re going to make it through.”

And Seungyoun knows perfectly well that, judging by the most recent rankings, he probably _would_ — but he’s unable to stop his brain from working a mile a minute thinking about how so much could have changed between now and then. Wooseok must see the thoughts plastered plainly across his face (or maybe the way Seungyoun is clutching onto the younger’s hand in a death grip had served as a clue), because the next thing Seungyoun knows, Wooseok’s got his free hand pressed against Seungyoun’s cheek; guiding his gaze to the younger male’s — and Wooseok actually looks _stern_ once their eyes meet, so much so that Seungyoun momentarily forgets about the state of unease that had served as his home for the past few hours or so.

“What?” Seungyoun asks, features every bit as puzzled as his tone suggests; but Wooseok is unfazed, meeting his gaze head on with little more than a sigh.

“You’ll be fine, Seungyoun. You’ll make it through, and you’re going to show everyone what you’re made of in the next round.” Wooseok looks a lot more serious than Seungyoun has ever seen him, perhaps more earnest than he (or anyone, really) has any right to be given the fact that no one can really _tell_ how these eliminations are supposed to go, but Seungyoun is unable to dwell on it for long — because pretty soon Wooseok is arching upwards, standing on the tips of his toes; lips pressing for the briefest of moments against the curve of Seungyoun’s cheek.

And Seungyoun — Seungyoun is _dazed_ , simply put, his thoughts a muddled mess of _Jesus fuck, I’m going to get eliminated_ and _what the fuck just happened_ and _Wooseok, Wooseok, Wooseok_. But Wooseok’s long gone, no doubt having disappeared down the hall to seek out Jinhyuk and discuss today’s entrance, and Seungyoun’s left to gracelessly regain his bearings as he tries to see if anyone in the vicinity had been paying them attention — but if any of them had been, then they had all wisely redirected their eyes elsewhere. Seungyoun clears his throat then, brushing imaginary dust off of the studio-issued blazer just to give himself _something_ to do, and braces himself for the apprehension that’s sure to grip him as soon as he’s (mostly) gotten over whatever it was that Wooseok did; because Seungyoun still _feels_ as if he’s got one foot in the competition and another out the door, and no amount of — _whatever it was that Wooseok did_ — could ever change that.

Despite all of his doubts, the ranking announcement goes well, with the results coming out much better than Seungyoun had ever allowed himself to hope — and as he follows the line of trainees filing out of the studio once the day’s shoot has all but wrapped up, Seungyoun can’t help but remark that this is the first time in a long while that he actually feels as if he could afford to take a moment and just _breathe_. He made it into the top thirty, and if all goes well — and Seungyoun is sincerely hoping that it will — he might just have a shot at top twenty, too. He’s still a little bit in awe, seemingly floating through the halls, and he only finds himself drawn back down to earth once Wooseok knocks against his shoulder with a soft _bump_. Seungyoun blinks, finally coming out of his trance; a single brow soon arched in lieu of a query as he turns to the male walking alongside him.

“This is the part where I say I told you so,” Wooseok states all too cheerfully, and Seungyoun would hate the way his voice curls around the words like a song if he wasn’t so damn endeared (but really, with the way Wooseok’s smiling — positively _glowing_ , really — Seungyoun thinks he would probably let the younger male get away with anything and everything).

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Seungyoun concedes, and he doesn’t even attempt to stave off the grin that’s spreading across his lips, “the little fox knows best, and all that.”

Wooseok preens a little at the response, palms soon latching around Seungyoun’s arm; words dripping saccharine even as he shakes his head (and really, Seungyoun would _hate_ that tone on anyone else; so he supposes that, at this point, he might as well accept the fact that he’s most likely too far gone — much farther than he would like to admit). “Nope, nope, nope. That’s not enough. I kept trying to get you to calm you down and you wouldn’t listen. I want you to promise that you’ll do your best to listen to me from now on.”

“Wooseok, is that really necessary?”

“I want you to _promise me_.”

“Fine, fine.” Seungyoun’s heaving a sigh, and Wooseok looks up at him expectantly — the two of them halting as the other trainees continue to pass them by. “I promise to do my best to listen to you from now on.”

Seungyoun all but parrots the other’s words, and truth be told he thinks his little speech could have been a lot more sincere, but Wooseok seems satisfied all the same; the younger male responding with a pleased little noise before pressing yet another kiss onto Seungyoun’s cheek — and it doesn’t seem to matter that this is the second time it’s happened (with both instances having occurred in the space of a day, no less), because Seungyoun finds that he’s just as frozen as the first time; helplessly staring after Wooseok as he seemingly continues down the hall in slow motion. Seungyoun feels as if he can’t even breathe, much less speak, and all he could think of is how Wooseok had been _right there_ — how all he would have to do is lean just the _tiniest_ bit closer — and yet he still managed to blow it.

And maybe it did take him far too many weeks to admit that he wanted to hold Wooseok near, to pull him closer and closer until the space between them starts to disappear; but Seungyoun’s in a _crisis_ here, in more ways than one — his thoughts not quite having caught up to what the rest of him has been pushing for all along. But if Seungyoun’s been reading all the signs right (and he really fucking _hopes_ he is), then another opportunity should present itself soon enough, shouldn’t it?

_Shouldn’t it?_

**five.**

At this point, Seungyoun’s little excursions with the other trainees have become a regular occurrence. He’s always found it easy to make friends, effortlessly forming ties with similar-minded people in and out of the industry; so it’s not as if he was _friendless_ prior to joining _Produce_ , but he certainly enjoys being able to connect with people with whom he has similar life experiences — because if he doesn’t end up winning this entire competition (and Seungyoun thinks the chances of that are far more likely than the opposite), he’s glad to have at least something to show for all his trouble. He had come into the show with little to no expectations, after all; and while winning continues to be his primary goal, Seungyoun is well aware that having fun is just as important — because really, if he isn’t enjoying himself, then he figures that there isn’t any point to suffering through all the hardships that this industry entails.

He’s not expecting the way his phone lights up with a message, Wooseok demanding to know when it would be _his_ turn to monopolize Seungyoun’s time with mock petulance, but it causes Seungyoun’s heart to leap into his throat all the same — and he finds himself firing back with a specific time and the name of a restaurant before he’s even had enough time to think his response through. It’s only when Wooseok replies with a string of enthusiastic stickers does he realize the extent of what he’s done — essentially set up a fucking date ( _but it’s not really a date_ , Seungyoun’s mind supplies) when he isn’t anywhere near as mentally prepared as he would like to be. But it’s too late, because knowing Wooseok, the younger male is most likely already halfway out the door; and Seungyoun can’t really deny that he’s been wondering whenever the hell he’s going to get another shot to make up for every single opportunity that he’s wasted so far — so he steels himself, does his damnedest to talk himself out of dressing to impress, and heads out the door.

Wooseok looks beautiful when they meet — but then again, Seungyoun thinks, being beautiful is pretty much the norm when it comes to the younger male. And it’s not as if Wooseok is dressed _particularly_ different (Seungyoun has long since learned that Wooseok’s wardrobe is the farthest thing from gaudy), but now that he’s stopped trying to put a hold on his train of thought, Seungyoun finds it all too easy to get caught up in the way Wooseok practically _glows_. As close as they are now, Seungyoun still feels as if they’re from vastly different worlds, and it’s taken him this long to figure out that the only reason he hadn’t expected them to become friends is because he has always been in _awe_ of the younger man.

“You’re staring.” Wooseok states as they stand in line outside of the restaurant, waiting to be let in.

The other male looks a little too smug, Seungyoun thinks, but there’s a playful lilt to Wooseok’s voice as well; and it’s for this very reason that Seungyoun finds himself jesting, “You’ve got something on your face.”

“Oh, I see. What is it, then? Beauty or something like that?”

“Or something like that.”

The remainder of their meal flows much in the same way, with their conversations riddled with the easy banter that Seungyoun and Wooseok had always shared even as they trade stories of their respective teams’ preparations for the upcoming concept evaluation. And this — this is nice, Seungyoun thinks, and he wonders idly if it would be too much for him to just press closer and closer until their lips _touch_. And Seungyoun’s been considering it, of course he has, the thought of it keeping him awake at night and gripping him at various times throughout the day; and he figures that now is as good as a time as any —

But they’re not alone, and the way another customer taps on Seungyoun’s shoulder to ask for a photo serves as a glaring reminder of that fact. Seungyoun puts on a smile, moves to take a photo — watches as Wooseok goes through the exact same motions right after. They linger inside the restaurant for a bit after that — if only to be polite — but pretty soon they decide that it’s best to head home before word gets out about where they are. Seungyoun is roped into walking the younger male home, Wooseok having whinged and whinged until Seungyoun finally agreed (and really, all it would have taken is a simple “please”, but a whining Wooseok is much too great of a treat to pass up), and it seems as if it takes both too long and no time at all for them to get to where Wooseok and Jinhyuk are currently staying.

“This is me.” Wooseok declares once the two of them are faced with the numbers etched outside the apartment door.

“I know. You forced me to walk you home, remember? I never would’ve thought that you’d be this demanding.” Seungyoun grouses with a click of the tongue, head shaking in mock disapproval.

“Shut it. Can’t you at least pretend to be the perfect gentleman?” Wooseok bites back, tone shifting to his usual playful lilt once more the moment Seungyoun grumbles his assent. “Thank you for walking me home, and thank you for squeezing me into your busy schedule, Mister Popular.”

Seungyoun lets out an incredulous laugh at the nickname, easily pointing out that Wooseok is just as popular as he is with the other trainees, but he plays along all the same. Pretty soon they’re bidding each other good night, Seungyoun mirroring the younger’s grin and holding Wooseok’s gaze for as long as he could before the door slams shut between them —

**six.**

But he isn’t quite ready for the night to end, Seungyoun thinks, and he makes a split-second decision to fit his hand into the small gap between the frame and the door; a hurried “wait” accompanying the impulse — and the door swings wider once more, Wooseok’s brows raised both in query and evident curiosity. Seungyoun would steel himself, but he can’t help but think that he’s done it more than enough — and so he elects not to give himself any room to think before letting a hand curl against the other’s nape, drawing Wooseok near in the exact same way he’s thought about doing countless times before. It’s a _relief_ when their lips finally meet, Wooseok curling into him as if he’s been waiting just as long — and Seungyoun presses forward and allows himself to _take_ , mouth slotting against Wooseok’s as Seungyoun pulls him impossibly closer.

Wooseok is breathless when they part, and Seungyoun isn’t faring much better — but he feels as if he could run a _marathon_ just to burn out the electricity charging through his veins. Wooseok’s lips part just then, all too poised to speak; and Seungyoun can’t really find it in himself to break the silence — so he chooses to wait.

“You had this look on your face.” is what Wooseok finally says.

“What?” Seungyoun asks, none too eloquently, and he’s unable to stop the way his brows start to crease — because he could have thought of a hundred other things that the younger male might have said, but that was definitely not one of them.

“Before you kissed me.” the other male adds by way of explanation. “I’ve seen that look before. A lot of times, actually. I have no idea why it took you this long.”

“Listen, listen,” Seungyoun rushes to amend, and he tells himself that he isn’t fucking _flustered_ , thank you very much, “you need to cut me some slack here. It takes a while for these things to process, you know, especially when it concerns someone who really _matters_.”

“Oh, I’m just _jumping_ for joy. The man I’ve been pining after was too scared to make the first move. I’m the luckiest man in the world, really.” Wooseok states, eyes rolling towards the heavens even as his lips start to curve upwards in a smile.

“Hey, hey, hey — I did kiss you, didn’t I? If you already _knew_ that I wanted to do it, you could’ve just kissed me first.”

“Well, maybe I wanted you to kiss me first.” it’s played off in a nonchalant tone, but a slight flush spreads across Wooseok’s cheeks all the same, and Seungyoun revels in the sight. “Will you stay the night? But no funny business! Jinhyuk’s sleeping in the other room.”

“’Funny business’, really? It took me this long just to find the guts to kiss you. Do you really think I’d be able to fuck you right away?” Seungyoun’s laughing, arms still wound around the younger’s waist, and he would curse himself for being a little too honest — but Wooseok knows him all too well by now, and it isn’t as if Seungyoun didn’t know how ridiculous he was being for having taken this long.

Wooseok seems pensive, nodding in agreement; gaze dragging slowly over Seungyoun’s frame, and his tone is teasing when he speaks. “So you have performance issues. I get it, I get it.”

“Wooseok, shut the fuck _up_.” Seungyoun gripes, and Wooseok arches upward, lips pressing against Seungyoun’s as he does just that.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a few side notes — [UNIQ was cross-trained by Yuehua and YG](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uniq_\(band\)), and the restaurant date mentioned here was based on an [actual “date” which I cry about daily](https://twitter.com/chochoseungyoun/status/1144476723490070529). Come cry with me over at [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/woodz_) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/seungseokhq).


End file.
